Still, memories live on
by Blueberry Absinth
Summary: One moment Diana will never forget and five moments she wishes she'll forget... somewhat Diana/Leona


**Long time no see :)) Trying to get myself back to the mood of writing fanfics, even if I don't know how long that's gonna be, all with starting uni soon. Nevertheless, let's hope it stays for a while ^^ Also, ****I own nothing.**

**Enjoy! :3 **

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**Still, memories live on**

*1 moment she'll never forget and 5 moments she wishes she'll forget*

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I.

She'll never forget the rush of power she got after first receiving the power of the Moon.

It's like the bathing in the freshest, cleanest water one can ever find, and it warms her insides and suddenly she can do anything, even moving mount Targon from its sacred duty of steadying the skies, so that they fall and the moon falls as well and destroys everything in its wake and it's a beautiful disaster and she's drunk on power and she can take on anybody, any horde of enemy, with the name of the lady of the night on her lips.

Vengeance guides her hand. The smile is easy on her face. Their bodies are easy on her blade. Soon they all are bleeding on the floor. She steps where the blood's the thickest, so that she can bathe her boots and stain the ancient garments of the Avatar of the Moon to signify the birth of a new Lunari clan. A new era for the Lunari.

She walks around the room, checking for any survivors to finish off. Her boots make a strange plopping sound as they move. There are none. They all used to be above her, but now they can't even reach the level of her ankles.

The moon shines from the windows, turning the crimson of the blood into silver. A proper sacrifice for rebirth.

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...

I.

She'll always try to forget how she was belittled back under the Solari's wing.

How they made fun of her; oh the little girl who believes there's more to the sky than the Sun, who reads too much, who is too good, yet disagrees too much, who dares to think logically, who is so different.

She hates how she shut herself up in the library, researching, cleaning, going through dusty journals and books just so she could find any lead, any clue, on which to hang on and continue her search from. How some of the other acolytes learned her schedule and waited for her around the library. How one time they ruined one of the books she had taken for her room and because of that she was punished severely. She does not speak of that accident.

How she always needed Leona to be protected.

Tough luck now.

She doesn't need to be protected now.

_(most of the times)_

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II.

She'll always try to forget the distrust, how they didn't believe her even when she cried out there might be an alternative.

The countless hours spent researching, looking for clues that there might be a people who worship the moon as well. The night is past the cycle as much as the day is, and the moon is the mistress of the night. So why not? It is only logical.

But only logical to her.

Her words, peaceful as they are (at first), are only branded as heretic.

The rush of happiness once she finds the remains of a temple which seems to have been built by worshippers of the moon. The rush of excitement once she finds the ceremonial garb. The jab of terror (which she quickly dissolves) once she realizes the residents of the temple can't have died a natural death and might have most probably been wiped out. In her purest happiness, she forgets to look at the signs.

The enthusiasm with which she tells her findings to the elders. The subtle fear at seeing their estranged faces, which slowly grows into terror once she finishes her story and is only met with a tight silence.

The dreadful night she spent locked up, after her death sentence (because of _heresy_) was pronounced, hoping, praying to a goddess she wasn't sure existed that she doesn't die, because if a whole temple once existed then maybe she was powerful enough, but she also left her people in the face of a tragedy and by the end of the day what's the use of praying to some old gods?

Slowly enduring the torment they subjected her to, hiding, salvaging a small part of belief in the Moon's glory in the back of her head, where they couldn't find her, despite everything. In retrospection, maybe that's what saved her in the end.

Her own now empty eyes meeting their eyes, minutes before her execution, and seeing nothing but hatred. The fear seeping inside her, swallowing her whole mind and being, until all that's left is the little fraction of hope she's hidden in her mind. The terror rendering her immobile.

She was so scared at that moment.

Ah well. They are dead now.

...

III.

She'll always try to forget how no one understands her humour.

For example.

A man, a woman and a yordle walk into the sun. They die! Because it burns them alive!

Heh, heh, heh!

What, that doesn't seem funny? Well, it does to Diana. It's actually A+ humour to her.

The kind of humour that's actually so painfully true that you have to laugh at it to forget the jabbing pain in your insides. However, no one understands it.

It's even become a running gag amongst the summoners in the Institute. Diana's so bad at telling jokes. Diana can't say a joke to save her life. Diana's power is inversely proportional to her ability to tell jokes.

Try as she might, she laughs at different things than other people. But then again, other people haven't gone through what she has. She is vastly different; does that mean she has to be so inherently different even in something as casual as telling jokes?

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IV.

She'll always try to forget how Leona now avoids her eyes.

Sometimes, the small little Solari acolyte, believing in the peaceful coexistence of Sun and Moon, who's hiding behind waterfalls of blood in her mind, comes out of its little hiding place and reasons that it's logical for Leona to hate her. Even if they aren't (technically) from opposing factions, she has killed the Solari elders – the very people she has sworn to protect. She, the Avatar of the Sun, whose primary job, even now on the Summoners' Rift, is to protect. Protect because she can now; because once she could have not.

Not that Diana regrets killing these mongrels.

She regrets making Leona hate her.

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...V.

Try as she might, Diana won't forget the shy kiss she and Leona shared, one cloudy night, when neither of their patron celestial bodies could see them.


End file.
